Devil's Succession
by Zero9grl
Summary: Post-game. Seifer finds himself in the crosshairs once again as he takes up the task of escorting a young girl to her mother, a powerful and mysterious sorceress. Eventual appearances by all the cast. FFVII characters AUed in for new characters.


**ONE: SCREWING UP**

He hadn't expected to be here again. Not here specifically. Metaphorically, obviously. _…Ya know?_ A small voice said in the corner of his mind and Seifer sniggered silently to himself. Too much time with Raijin. Too much time with _Fujin_. She was the one who'd demanded they all do some actual work instead of passing through town to the next gig as per usual.

If survival hadn't currently necessitated being quiet Seifer would have sighed melodramatically. Of the three of them he'd had the simplest job: get to the wharf, find a tackle shop, sell off the fishing lures Raijin had been making in his spare time. See? Simple. Nearly impossible to screw up.

What he hadn't expected was an honest to god turf war to erupt in the store. Whatever beef the three gunmen blocking the sole exit had with the old man behind the counter, Seifer hadn't the slightest clue. Not least because they'd simply kicked the door open and gone at it in a barrage of bullets. Even more surprising the octogenarian store owner had pulled out a _rifle_ , scope and all, and returned fire without missing a damn beat.

Ah. There. The sound Seifer had been waiting for: the echoes of mechanical clicks as empty magazines led to empty barrels. Before shooting could resume Seifer sprang out from behind the boxes he'd gracelessly thrown himself behind for cover in the first place. "Don't shoot!"

It was far from his coolest or best line, but it worked. He raised his hands into the air as all guns (and there were five, apparently gramps had a _second gun_ and was dual wielding this shootout) swung towards him. No sudden movements, no unnecessary harassment, don't make any corpses, was the litany playing through Seifer's head as he went still. This town was Galbadian territory making it matched odds if police would jail him for political reasons or take him out for a cold one.

"Gramps, I'll take the money for the lures to-go. Let you folks get back to your...lovers' spat," he put out jovially when shooting didn't recommence. All comments on foursomes and bad breakups were kept to himself. Figured it was probably the kind of talk that led to gang members capping innocents in the knees. And he was an innocent here! Law abiding citizen just trying to participate in some upstanding commerce.

"Who's this?" One of the gunmen questioned the store owner, voice low with an aggressive growl like a yappy dog. While all the assailants wore hoodies, this one had on a facemask, the kind worn by overly conscientious virus carriers and germaphobes alike. Oddly considerate of others for someone trying to kill a senior citizen in the middle of the afternoon. Seifer had mentally dubbed him Boy Scout to distinguish him from the other two; Slacker, who'd shown up to this murder caper in track pants, couldn't even have the decency to put on a real pair of trousers, and Poser, who had somewhere along in life made the poor decision of wearing sunglasses at all times, even when indoors, to affect an air of coolness. Coolness was not achieved. Overall the three were a mixed bag with Boy Scout looking the most capable. That didn't say much for the group.

It worked in Seifer's favor at least. They looked green enough that they might just let a witness walk. Seifer was already mentally cataloguing his complaints about this town to regale Raijin and Fujin with late—

"You blind? That's god's own Seifer Almasy!" The shopkeeper yelled back and all hell broke loose. So much for _simple._

* * *

"Seifer... Ya know?"

"DISAPPOINTMENT."

Seifer winced as he was released from lockup to Raijin and Fujin's waiting custody. It'd been only six hours since they'd last seen each other, five of them spent in a single cell on the crummiest bench Seifer had ever known. It had to be some kind of record. The sheer embarrassment made him violently slash the air with his hand. "I didn't start it!"

As excuses went the protestation rated on the weak side. The falling looks on Raijin and Fujin's faces were not impressed. Ugh... Shrugging on his coat, it having been confiscated during processing, he stalked out the station exit. "How much?" He bit out tersely.

Funds had been low for a while now. As monster hunters the job involved a lot of self-paid travel. Seifer's precarious position as neither a prosecuted war criminal nor a decorated war hero also made things…difficult. Bigger, well-paying contracts attracted attention. Attention attracted trouble.

"They looked you up in the system. It's the third time this month, ya know?" Raijin began awkwardly. The bail must have been a lot then. Seifer could always tell when Raijin was trying to soften bad news. " _How much_?" He repeated.

Mentally he was calculating what Raijin and Fujin likely earned on their respective jobs and adding it with what they'd had that morning. He'd never secured the money at the shop _or_ gotten the lures back meaning they were out money there. If the bail had been particularly onerous—

"UNPAID."

Seifer froze, hands still on his collar to flick it up the way he preferred it. A frown was instantly on his brow. While true this had been one of his friendlier arrests, lot of Galbadian nationalism in this town apparently, it hadn't been "free to go" friendly. "Then how am I walking away here?" He said slowly, suspecting he wasn't going to like the answer.

Raijin and Fujin each looked in a different direction; Seifer's frown deepened. He was about to demand an answer when Fujin turned to Raijin and kicked him in the shin. It was no love tap, that was certain, leaving Raijin hopping on one leg. "EXPLAIN."

Raijin's face was a mask of pain, but he didn't leave Seifer waiting longer for some elucidation. "It's the third time this month, ya know?" He began. "They said even though ya were never charged with anything it shows a, um, what was it Fujin?"

"PATTERN. ABSURD."

"Yeah! A 'clear and persistent pattern'. So the bail was way up there, ya know? We, um. We..." Here Raijin paused and dropped his leg back down, ducking his head uncomfortably, "Sorry, Seifer. We didn't have that kind of cash. We were talkin' 'bout what to do when this old geezer showed up. Said he'd pay. In return he just wanted to talk to ya when ya got out. Ya know?"

Raijin's face was the picture of apology. It wasn't the first time someone had offered to do the trio a good turn to get something in return. Usually they wanted Seifer to do some kind of dirty work or support their political platform. There seemed to be many who thought that without the sorceress Seifer was a masterless dog who could be easily bought. As a posse their rule was to never accept these deals and give the clods offering a good thrashing if they got insistent. This time there hadn't been much of a choice. Next to Raijin Fujin crossed her arms. Her expression was trademark Fujin, as usual.

"SUSPICIOUS," she pointed out, voicing Seifer's own thoughts. If anyone was paying that much just to talk to him it was unlikely they were going to take a "thanks, but my calendar's full" well. They might have to skip town and the next several over real fast if they didn't want to get caught up in any more trouble. Great. Just great.

What really bothered Seifer though was… "Pattern?" He muttered. " _Pattern_? I didn't start any of those fights. I'm an innocent bystander, damn it!" His fist slammed into a nearby street lamp. Raijin shook his head while Fujin shrugged her shoulders (without uncrossing her arms, it was a definite skill).

"But three times in a month is a lot, ya know? And it's always when we're split up. Not sayin' it's your fault Seifer, but…"

"CAUTION. ALONE. RISK."

Seifer hung his head. Now he was getting a lecture. Talk about bad day. Not that it was unwarranted; he caused Raijin and Fujin a lot of trouble with this only being the latest. They stuck by him, but it wasn't easy on them. There'd been numerous streaks of having to sleep in the wilderness and hunt for food due to one misfortune or another in the eight months since the war ended. Seifer had wanted to get them into an hotel for the night, let them all enjoy a bed again, but it didn't look like it'd be happening now.

"I'll be more careful. Let's just talk to this old man," he sighed. "Where'd he say to find him?"

* * *

The little shack down by the beach didn't look like the sort of place owned by someone who could easily front the money for an exorbitant bail. There were chickens in the fenced in yard, for one. "You sure this is the right place?" Seifer asked, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun as it sank into the ocean.

"AFFIRMATIVE." Fujin nodded: this was it. Still neither she nor Raijin moved to go in, waiting for Seifer's lead. Seifer himself wasn't sure how to approach this. If it was a trap, an ambush for retribution, that tiny shack didn't have enough room to host a dinner party, forget hiding a fighting force. It also didn't seem like the home of anyone who could do with Seifer's kind of skills. They didn't teach students animal husbandry at Garden.

Before he had a chance to make up his mind a young girl walked up to the shack. She paused, hand on the gate as she regarded Seifer and his posse. Her short brown hair stirred in the sea breeze, forcing her to blink curiously almond shaped eyes. The beige cargo pants she was wearing along with her sea green tank top, DOG DAYS printed in bold across the chest, marked her as probably something of a tomboy. Even her windbreaker was black with the emblem of a bar Seifer had passed down at the wharf on the shoulder; there wasn't an ounce of delicateness to be found on the gangly prepubertal frame. She seemed like the sort of girl to get into scraps and put bugs down shirts.

As if she could read Seifer's thoughts her eyes narrowed. "Weirdos," she audibly muttered before throwing open the gate. "GRAAAAMPS! THEY'RE HEEEERE!"

Seifer winced at the shriek, Raijin covering his ears beside him and Fujin managing to palpitate an aura of malice without twitching a muscle. "RAGE," was her only comment. Raijin quickly stepped between her and the girl. For safety's sake. The trio, not seeing much choice now that they'd been obnoxiously announced, followed into the house.

Pleasantly the interior more spacious than expected. Netting covered the walls, fishing equipment hanging from the ropes. A table and two chairs took up most of the space with a tiny counter, fridge and stove top filling the back of the shack. A ladder leaned against one wall leading to a loft above. Probably functioned as the bedroom. Finally there was a closet sized partition by the entrance, an open plastic folding door revealing it as what had to be the world's tiniest bathroom.

If the shack were to win an award it'd be "best execution of claustrophobia". It only qualified as an house by the strictest terms of being an inhabited dwelling. Seifer's eyes followed the girl as she immediately went to the ladder and climbed up to disappear through a square cut hole in the ceiling. She clearly wasn't a social creature. Lowering his gaze he finally got a good look at the old man sitting at the table that dominated the available space. His eyes widened. "You?!"

It was the tackle store owner from earlier.

* * *

"Let's clean up loose ends first."

In no time at all the old man had Seifer seated at the table with Fujin stationed by the door ("DISTRUST.") and Raijin balanced atop the "kitchen" counter. All three of them were now the dubious holders of hot cups of lemon tea. Raijin had already drank half of his so they'd know in short order if it was poisoned. Fujin was no doubt waiting for an apt moment to upend hers on the floorboards or some other disparaging action. She hadn't wanted a cup in the first place, but the old man had annoyingly insisted.

Seifer himself was using his as an hand warmer; it _was_ turning to winter now. "The money for the lures I gave you: pay up," he clarified stubbornly. In the back of the room Raijin fell off his seat.

"But Seifer, the bail—"

"And he got what he paid for. I'm here, aren't I? Can't help it if my time's expensive," Seifer interrupted coolly. His eyes never left the old man's face. "You put hard work into those lures. I'm not handing them out like party favors just because of a little ruckus."

The old man, perhaps to his credit, chuckled and reached into a pocket once he wiped the slackjaw surprise off his wizened face. "Rightly so. Always heard you were a tough sell, young'un," he commented. A small pile of coins, about 50 gil, was laid on the table. A fair price for a few lures by an amateur. Seifer swept them up and dropped them into his own pocket. Now that he'd had some satisfaction...

"You can begin with explaining your visitors from this afternoon," he started the conversation off. Brisk and to the point. The less time spent on the inevitable forthcoming sob story the further Seifer's patience would go. "Then you can get to talking about what you want from me. You didn't ask me here for your health. Let's hear it, old timer."

Seifer leaned back in his chair. Those were his terms. And he raised his overly hospitable cup of lemon tea to loudly slurp it. Just to be pay back some of the obnoxious karma the shopkeeper had put him through today. Mature? No. Satisfying? Absolutely.

The shopkeeper, or Gramps as the girl had called him, seemed to understand he hadn't made Seifer's favorite kooks list and didn't raise a fuss at the attitude. Probably hadn't escaped his notice Seifer had yet to ask for introductions; clearly this was about as much a conversation as an interrogation was friendly chatter. "Suppose that's as good a place to start as any," Gramps mused. "It really does have to do with the heart of the matter."

"I don't do security work." Seifer's response was instantaneous and dry as the Centra continent. He had the presence of mind to feel some embarrassment at the slow rise of Gramp's questioning eyebrows. The refusal had been aggressively premature. _Recalcitrant_ was one way to put it. A wave of Seifer's hand encouraged the old man to keep going.

The tale wasn't resumed at first, aged fingers tugging thoughtfully on a lower lip while drooping eyes pondered Seifer. Whatever thoughts were going through that balding head were known only to its owner. Rather than worry about it Seifer sipped his tea with more respect; it was surprisingly good. Finally Gramps dropped his hand. "It's my granddaughter. They're a gang of thugs, bandits more like it, who have it in mind they're going to make her join."

A derisive snort made clear what Gramps thought of any granddaughter of his going criminal. Wasn't happening! Think of the family name! All that and more was wrapped up in the knobby knuckled fist the old timer brought down onto the table. "Bunch of no goods, wasting everyone's time with their punk ideas—"

And just like that things went off the rails in the vein of the degeneracy of youth and why back in the day, apparently a favored subject. Not speaking up turned out to be a mistake as the minutes lengthened. Seifer could see Raijin's expression matching his own growing incredulity, eyes darting around in that broad face desperately looking for an exit. Briefly Seifer saw him size up the loft, but the idea the ladder could support the weight of someone like Raijin _or_ Seifer was less possibility and more the realm of wishful thinking. He didn't need Fujin in view either to know her last nerve was being trampled with the grace of a tank; the sound of cracking porcelain fully alerted the ticking bomb at his back.

If Seifer didn't do something fast it was a coin toss which of them was going to crack under this generational tirade first. Finishing his tea in one quick swallow he started to rise from his seat. Sometimes...sometimes retreat _was_ the correct option if you were the type of person with three arrests in one month on your record. "—And that's why I want you to escort her to see her mother. Keep her safe!" The old man summed up frantically, seemingly reading through a third sense (or Fujin's increasingly wrathful face) that he was losing his audience.

It was so sudden Seifer nearly suffered whiplash dragging his mind back from the wastes of lecturing boredom to refocus. So it was a babysitting job. Why couldn't the geezer have spit that out to start with?! He drew in a breath to turn this pitiful saga down before it drew on any longer.

"Before you answer: her mother is a sorceress."

And suddenly the whole situation changed with just five words.


End file.
